Discordant Melody, Broken Harmony
by Catra
Summary: The War is over. The wrong person won. Harry Potter is dead, and now, the last person left in the wizarding world who resists, is in the hands of the Dark Lord. Rated 'M' for future content.
1. Chapter 1

"Crucio."

The cold voice that delivered this calm spell, was high, and merciless. A yew wand pointed at the writhing form of a twenty one year old woman, the last, of a dying breed.

Resistance.

Blazing red eyes, narrowed in calculation, watched with interest as the body of his victim contorted into positions that were almost impossible to behold. However, this was not what interested her tormentor, what interested him, was the silence.

Well, aside from the drumming of her heels on the floor, that is. But her voice...was silent.

As silent as it had been from the moment she was dragged into his presence by her long, wild hair by his loyal Death Eaters.

Not one word had she uttered, even as she was sneered and laughed at by his men, kicked and abused, cursed and degraded.

This had all been very interesting at the time, but he had assumed that once he turned the well honed blade of his Cruciatus Curse upon her thin, starved body, screams would flow in their discordant, bitter harmony, and create the unique symphony that differed with each victim. His own, personal, Moonlight Sonata.

He was disappointed.

The woman was determinately, _infuriatingly_, silent. Not one sound, not one.

There weren't even any tears to savour, to gloat over.

Ruby eyes narrowed in frustration, and the emotion channelled through the wand held lightly in spiderlike hands, increasing the power of the curse.

The spine of the woman arched, and her hands scrambled on cold stone for purchase, only to find none. Honey brown eyes snapped open, filled with an agony so intense that they bulged slightly from their sockets and her face flushed an angry, violent red.

Lord Voldemort frowned when he saw the red liquid seeping from the corners of a previously nicely shaped mouth, whose lips were now cracked and chafed. He lifted his wand, thereby ending her torment, and strode over to her body, whose chest was heaving with gasped breaths.

He gripped her chin in his hand, and applied pressure to the base of her jaw, forcing it open so that he could peer into her mouth. Blood flooded out, flowing onto his hands and soaking into the expensive and finely tailored black robe he wore.

He hissed lightly, impressed, despite himself. She had bitten her tongue, to keep sound from passing her lips, and had almost cloven it in half as a result.

The Dark Lord muttered a simple healing spell, and watched as the blood flowed back into her mouth, and the flesh healed.

"You are a stubborn woman, my dear." He said softly, voice lingering slightly on the 's'. "But..." He leaned close, and brushed the tangles of light brown hair away from her ear, before whispering in a voice that was almost silent. "I will make you scream for me. Your voice, raised in pleas for your life, begging me for mercy, shall be the most exquisite music I have had the pleasure to hear since eliminating Harry Potter."

The woman shivered, and her eyes glowed with hate as the Dark Lord looked at his minions, who rushed to haul her too her feet, none too gently at that.

Lord Voldemort watched the defiance in her gaze, with something akin to a smile on his lipless face. He waited until she had been dragged from the room, eyes almost burning holes into his with the intensity of the emotion, before he spoke once more.

"Make no mistake, you _will_ scream for me, Hermione Jean Granger. You will scream until your music pleases me no more, and then, you shall be yet another broken harmony, discarded in the wind."


	2. Chapter 2: Darkness

In her cell, Hermione shivered. She had no idea where she was, what time it was, or even if it was day or night. Her cell was pitch black, had no windows, and the door was solid metal.

Faintly, she could hear screams, and she had no doubt that they came from other prisoners, lost in the same situation as herself.

She felt a sob begin to claw its way up her throat, but restrained it fiercely. She would not give in, she would not afford _him_ the satisfaction of sound.

Four months.

That was all. Four months since Voldemort won the war, four months since she had fled for her life after Hogwarts fell. She didn't want to do it, didn't want to leave, but Professor McGonagall had virtually thrown her through the double doors, screaming at her to leave, to get out.

Hermione had run, desperately trying to block the sounds of the dying and the wounded, had even managed to drag Ron along with her, though he almost cursed her for it, even as tears slipped freely from his swollen, grief filled eyes.

Because Ginny had been the first to fall.

It looked as if they were going to win, Hermione had realised at the exact same moment as Harry who the _true_ owner of the Elder Wand was, and her eyes had been bright with excitement as he had begun to cast the spell, the spell which would save them all.

But Voldemort was faster.

His scarlet eyes had widened, as he too, came to the conclusion that Draco Malfoy was the Master of the Deathstick, and his Killing Curse left his wand a second before Expelliarmus left Harry's.

But it didn't hit Harry.

Ginny Weasley, her friend, Ron's sister, the woman Harry loved, had screamed his name and leapt in the way of the deadly spell. She never stood a chance.

However, Voldemort obviously realised, that if Ginny died, saving Harry, Harry would be protected once more by the sacrifice of a loved one. So, he fired a _second_ curse, barely a second after the first had left his wand, and Ginny's life was preserved as the unknown spell deflected the Killing Curse.

Hermione had to truly struggle not to let the tears overtake her this time, and she had to stuff her fist in her mouth to prevent a whimper escape it.

Ginny had survived, yes, but Harry's concentration had been broken. He had turned, green eyes blazing with righteous fury at the attack on Ginny, just in time to see her get hit by _seven_ separate Cruciatus Curses from the wands of the remaining Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord himself. He had seen her mind snap, as easily as a rubber band that had been stretched too far, and his resolve had shattered as he watched her giggle madly on the floor, babbling nonsense.

He hadn't made a move to defend himself when Voldemort had raised his wand, and even though she, and everyone else in the Hall still on the side of Light had yelled, pleaded, _begged_ him to do something, Harry had only looked at her, and smiled sadly, before nodding his head to his nemesis.

'_I am sorry._'

Those were the last words of Harry Potter, and then the Killing Curse had hit him square in the chest.

Harry had fallen backwards, and a strange laugh hung on his lips, the same laugh that Sirius Black had worn, as he toppled through the Veil of Death at the Ministry.

His bright eyes had gone dim, and for a moment, there had been silence. Then, Lord Voldemort smiled in return, and had bowed his head to his fallen foe.

He had turned, scarlet eyes glowing with triumph, and his eyes had settled on the group of Order Members and Hogwarts students left standing, numbering at barely a hundred.

_'In honour of Potter's death, Lord Voldemort shall be merciful. You all, may leave here unscathed, and you shall not be hunted for a period of seventeen days, one for each of the years in which Potter eluded me. After that, however...You shall all die."_

That was when McGonagall had shoved her too the door, and she had caught Ron's hand in hers. Ron had been screaming, trying to get to his sister, his family, to Harry, to kill any Death Eater he could find.

But he had died anyway, cut down barely a month after they had escaped, throwing his life away on a suicidal assault on Malfoy Manor, where information indicated his sister was being held captive. Part of Hermione had died that day, died when Ron's body was paraded through the Daily Prophet, mounted on a pike.

* * *

The door of Hermione's cell opened soundlessly, and her head flew up in time to see Voldemort himself enter her prison.

"Suprised, Miss Granger?" He asked, twirling his wand in his fingers. He had discarded the Elder Wand, after killing Draco, since now that Potter was dead there were none who could stand against him, and he had used Muggle technology to see that the thing was destroyed.

Hermione merely glared at him.

"Come now, my dear Mudblood, no need to be so hostile. If anything, in your position I would be joyous!" His words were light, but his eyes were cold, calculating as he watched her. "The last of the Golden Trio, the last Order member capable of drawing breath or articulating sane speech."

When those words failed to do anything other than make her jaw clench, a small spark of annoyance flared in his crimson eyes.

"You evaded the clutches of Lord Voldemort for four months, girl. That's two months longer than Minerva managed, _and_ you took down more of my Death Eaters than both her and Shacklebolt combined. Impressive."

Hermione remained silent, though there might have been a slight expression of smugness on her face now.

"It is polite to respond when someone speaks to you, Miss Granger. Are you not a lady?"

No response.

"Fine. If you wish to be obstinate...Crucio!"

Voldemort watched intently, focused on the contortions of Hermione's face as she writhed. Nothing. Even her eyes were calm, as if the pain did not even touch her mind.

He lifted his wand, and then knelt down beside her, smiling grimly.

"You know...you do not have to stay here. You are a talented witch, the brightest student of Hogwarts since I myself left its halls. Lord Voldemort values intelligence, Miss Granger. You could leave this cell with me right now, all you would have to do is join me. Say yes."

She was silent, as he expected. Voldemort knew that she would not give in so easily, he even admired her a little for her courage, and nodded in acknowledgement of her silent refusal.

"Very well. I hope you enjoy your stay here, Miss Granger, we shall _speak_ again soon."

The Dark Lord stood, and his robes swirled behind him as he left the room, her cell door closing silently behind him.

Hermione watched the door, or at least where she assumed the door was in the resumed darkness of her prison, for a moment, before sighing noiselessly and curling into a ball on the cold, hard stone floor.

Her brown eyes closed slowly, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber, one haunted by crimson eyes snakes in the everlasting darkness, and the haunting notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata echoing in her mind.


	3. Chapter 3: Sibilant Sonata

_I apologise greatly for the lack of an update, and my delay in replying to reviews. Rest assured, that I am going through my in-box, and taking the time to reply to each one. _

_I would like, on that note, to thank those of you who have reviewed, or otherwise indicated interest in this story, by adding it to Alert, or even better, placing it on your favorites list. I appreciate it greatly:)_

_Criticism is also, most welcome. Any errors any of you happen to find, I am more than willing to correct. I would also like to beg your forgiveness for the shortness of this chapter, rest assured that the next will be more lengthy._

_I do not own Harry Potter, nor Hermione and a certain Dark Lord...though the latter might waltze through my dreams on occasion;)_

* * *

When Hermione opened her eyes, it was because of a sharp pain in her side. She glared up at the masked form of a Death Eater, who placed a tray of bread and water upon the floor, and muttered _scourgify_ at the corner she had designated as a bathroom, before kicking her once more and backing out of the cell, closing the door behind his masked form.

Hermione watched the door for a moment, and then fell upon the tray, feeling around frantically until she found the hard, dry hunk of bread. She tore into it hungrily, unable to remember the last time she ate. The water, she saved, unsure of the next time she would be given rations.

She then lay back against the cold and mold infested stone wall, and let her agile mind skim through the pages of Hogwarts: A History, the one book that always gave her cheer, even at the worst of times.

* * *

Voldemort, meanwhile, was researching.

He was looking through piles and piles of tomes, but not on Wizarding knowledge.

He was reading Muggle books, about Psychology.

The Dark Lord knew, that Granger would not be broken by spells, after her performance earlier that evening. No, Lord Voldemort would have to resort to baser methods to draw the girl from her shell of silence. He had tried, of course, to read her thoughts using his Legilimency, but had found nothing but white fog.

This had unnerved him, more than he would care to admit. Mainly because the last person who had blocked his mental invasions in such a way, was Severus Snape.

It was unfortunate, then, that Snape was unavailable for questioning about the girl.

He had sent the unctuous potion master on a mission, mere days before Granger had been captured. Severus Snape was currently immersed, deep in the underbelly of Diagon Alley, ferreting out the dissenters to the reign of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Most inconvenient.

One long corpse white finger, tapped idly against the tall crystal goblet that rested next to the current volume of Muggle knowledge being perused by the Dark Lord, the crystal chiming sharply at his attentions.

The other hand, which had been caressing the porcelain pages of the aforementioned volume, descended decisively upon the stark ebony of the freshly printed ink.

"Stimulus. A patient will often respond to stimuli that resonates with their interests or past experiences. The use of stimuli is often applied to patients who have suffered during periods of war-" He read aloud, a fiendish smirk appearing on his lipless mouth. "Perfect."

The frigid laugh that emanated from the throat of the Dark Lord, made the many candles in the room shiver, their flames momentarily dipping, as if paying homage to the cruel figure ensconced in the elaborately carved chair, made from the darkest of woods and resembling something that one would commonly see in a throne room, rather than a bedroom.

Voldemort stood, stretching languidly, before snapping the book closed, before running the tip of a single finger along it's stiff and crisp spine.

"Ah, knowledge. For once, the Muggles have an actual use." The tome was placed carefully down among the other volumes on the clustered table surface.

The Dark Lord laid himself down on his lavishly adorned bedspread, barely sparing a glance for the silver serpents writhing on its emerald silken surface, their ruby slitted eyes watching his every move, while their forked tongues whispered sibilantly to him.

Voldemort laced his fingers together, and gazed up with unseeing eyes at the embroidered canopy above his hairless head, a smile of satisfaction etched on his cruel face.

"Soon, Miss Granger, very soon, you will speak for me. You will speak, and scream, and plead. Perhaps," he mused, closing his thin eyelids and letting relaxation settle into his unnatural bones. "Perhaps, I shall have your voice recorded, so that I might listen to it at my whim? Yessss...your voice shall serenade me for eternity, Miss Granger, and no music shall ever be as sweet."

Crimson eyes opened again, and spared an amused glance for the magical gramophone on his desk, which was still playing softly. "Well, except for the dulcet tones of Beethoven's works, of course. For a Muggle-born, the man was a genius."

The Dark Lord closed his eyes once more, and allowed a fragile slumber to overcome his busy mind.


	4. Chapter 4: Surprise

Hermione awoke, again, to the sound of her cell door opening. Another tray of food was placed at her feet, her corner cleaned, by a Death Eater whom she guessed was a woman. It was hard to tell, with the robes almost completely disguising any feminine curves, but the voice gave the gender away.

It purred, in a soft coltrato that had the hairs on the back of her neck on end as she recognised the identity of her tender.

"The Dark Lord has seen fit to provide you with a source of entertainment, Mudblood. I would make sure to acknowledge his show of mercy with the sincerest gratitude, lest _I_ be given a chance to visit you a little more...personally."

Hermione glared up at Bellatrix, before her eyes widened in shock at what she was carrying.

Books.

_Lots_ of books.

And _candles_!

Hermione felt her heart pound in her chest, and her breathing speed, as Bellatrix tossed the tomes at her, and she had to scramble to gather them in her arms before they could linger for too long among the dirty straw that made up her cell floor. The candles were more carefully placed upon the floor, and then, to Hermione's utmost shock, a wand was produced, and handed to her.

Bellatrix handled her former wand as if it were a deadly snake, eyeing it with disgust as she passed it to the amazed girl, and took the utmost care to avoid brushing Hermione's skin with her own.

"It has been charmed, so do not even _think_ of attempting to unlock your cell door. You can perform basic heating, cleaning, and lighting magic, as well as light your candles, but that's it. Understood?"

Hermione didn't answer, of course, just glared at the Dark Witch, who huffed angrily before stalking out of the room, robes flapping in a manner vaguely reminiscent of one Severus Snape, sharp heels clicking noisily against the grey flagstone floor.

Meanwhile, the last living member of the Golden Trio eyed the door with trepidation, before running her slender hands lovingly over the wand.

She had long since gotten over the fact that it had belonged to the Death Eater who had just vacated the room. Hermione had lost her wand, some time ago, in a scuffle against Voldemort's troops, one of the many before she was captured. Since she had still been in possession of Bellatrix's wand, and it no longer resisted her, she had simply used that one, instead.

A non-vocal _incendio_ lit a few of the candles, allowing Hermione the freedom to peruse the titles of the tomes. It did not surprise her that about half of the volumes were dark in nature, but it _did_ surprise her, when she pulled a well worn copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' from the pile.

Something very close to joy bloomed in her heart as she hugged the book close, and tears sparked in her honey coloured eyes.

For the first time since Harry's death, Hermione Jean Granger smiled.

* * *

The Dark Lord opened the door to Hermione's cell, and his non-existant eyebrows rose.

The girl was smiling-_smiling!_ She was lain, on her stomach, legs waving lazily in the air behind her, and her face was concealed by the clouds of bushy brown hair as she flipped a page in the volume she was perusing.

Voldemort nodded in recognition when he realised the object of her joyful scrutiny. He had done well in choosing that book for her, having been informed by Madam Pince that it was the particular favourite of the avid bibliophile.

It had surprised him, especially since 'Hogwarts: A History' had also been one of _his _tomes of choice during his years at the school. He wondered, idly, if she knew that was where she was? No. He shook his head slowly, smiling slightly. Of course, she would never equate her dank and stinking cell with the dungeons of Hogwarts, no matter _how_ dismal they had been during the reign of Severus Snape.

"Having fun, Miss Granger?" He asked, cocking his head in an inquisitive manner.

Her reaction was rather entertaining. The book slammed shut, and she rolled, instantly on her feet with the tome clutched to her chest, as if to protect it. Her eyes were almost feral, and he saw them darting to the pile of books on the only clean patch of stone in her cell. Voldemort smiled slightly, and then shook his head.

"You needed fear, my dear. I do not intend to remove them. You can loosen your hold on the book now, it is my own copy, you see, and I do not wish it to be crushed by your slender hands, since it _is _almost fifty years old."

The look that was directed down to 'Hogwarts: A History" was priceless, the Dark Lord reflected, watching avidly as she abrubtly held it away from her chest, eyeing it as if it had a deadly snake hidden within it's yellowed paged. Which, was almost correct...

Lord Voldemort watched, as Hermione glared at the book, before pulling her wand, (Or, rather, Bella's wand) from her torn and tattered robes, and proceeded to wave it over the book she was clutching, as well as the ones still piled on the floor. He was rather impressed, she had already mastered the casting of non-verbal spells, or at least simple ones.

Apparently satisfied, a smile flickered across her face for an instant before she replaced her wand within her robe sleeve, but not before sending a calculating glance his way. Voldemort knew that she had just evaluated her chances of forcing her way past him, by magic or uncivilised brute force, and that she had found them severely lacking.

"Clever girl. I am afraid you are my guest here until I say otherwise."

Glare.

The Dark Lord watched her appraisingly for a few seconds more, maintaining the eye contact she had established, and attempting to look through her mind. He failed, once again, and frowned slightly before pulling the Elder Wand from his sleeve.

Hermione stiffened, her body tensed for flight, but Voldemort merely pointed his wand at one of the unlit candles before transfiguring it into a clean robe.

"Here. I can imagine that your current clothing is decidedly filthy now, yes? When I leave, you may change into those."

He received a hesitant nod in return to his words, and, slowly, she relaxed. Her face remained wary however, of which he approved. She really was an intelligent witch.

Perhaps, he mused, he should attempt to bring her into the fold, make her a Dark Witch to rival Bellatrix?

A chuckle escaped him at the thought of Hermione stood at his right side, Bella foaming at the mouth at the indignity of a Mudblood in his inner circle.

Hermione's eyes shot up to him, wide and startled and an entrancing honey brown, almost engulfed by her pupils, which were huge in their quest to find more light than the candles provided. Her mouth opened, and he thought, for one euphoric moment, that she would speak, but then he realised the her jaw was hanging in abject amazement.

"What's the matter, Miss Granger? Haven't you ever heard an evil overlord laugh before?" He laughed again, this time at his own comment, causing her eyes to open even wider. "I shall leave you to your literary pursuits, Miss Granger." He dipped her a bow, before turning and sweeping out of the room, but not before casting one last spell.


	5. Chapter 5: A Suspicious Gift

_Sorry about the time in which it has taken me to update, oh readers of mine D: I have recently been rather ill, and, thus unable to type as much as I would like._

_One of my reviewers pointed out a discrepancy in one of the other chapters, in which the Dark Lord is is possession of the Elder Wand, after I made clear the fact that he had destroyed it...all I can say to that is...well...my bad :( Pretend you didn't notice! _

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, despite it lacking in length...oh, and to clarify, italics with quotation marks mean Hermione's thoughts. After all, we can't have her being completely silent, can we?_

* * *

Hermione watched his departure from her cell with her jaw still hanging. She shook her head to compose herself after the door closed behind him, and the looked down at the book in her hands.

It belonged to _him_.

_He_ had sat, with it in his foul hands, reading the sacred pages...

Hermione shuddered.

She looked down at the book with interest though, and glanced up at the door appraisingly.

It was odd, she thought to herself, idly flipping though the yellowed parchment, that they shared a book. She would have pegged him as a 'Seckrets of the Darkest Magick' person; though, she supposed sourly, 'Hogwarts: A History' most likely would have been the starting point for his Horcrux gathering enterprise.

Hermione looked down at the pile of books, which she had barely glanced at before diving on the current volume that she still held.

She carefully placed 'Hogwarts: A History' on the clean patch of ground she had prepared, before examining the rest of her reading material.

_'Magick Most Foul...no surprise there...Chants and Charms: An advanced theory...that's a good book, I read it last year...Putrid Potions...eugh, sounds like something that Professor Snape would make us read! Silent Spellcasting-'_

Hermione laughed at that one, but managed to contain it before it could escape her throat. Her thoughts focused once more on the books.

_'Seckrets of the Darkest Magick...Of course. I should have __expected __**that**__. Fantastic Beasts and where to Find them: The Rarest of Species edition...I didn't know that that book had been published yet! I'm impressed. And-Why, what's this?'_

It was a book, a thick but small volume, bound in rich brown leather, with a feather _just_ peeking out of its pages. Hermione frowned, and flipped over the book.

Nothing.

No author, no title, not even any ornamentation on the leather.

She opened it, cautiously, and then blinked.

Empty.

_'Great. Just Great. Another book with invisible writing. Trust the Dark Lord to have a sense of humour as twisted as the rest of his mind! The odds are that this is a book of incredibly dark magic, one that would steal my soul...but...Hey, is that a **quill**_?'

It was, a quill with an elegant and long red feather, which was what she had seen poking through the sheaves of thick parchment. Carefully, she picked it up. She examined it closely, but was unable to detect any hint of dark magic on it, even after casting the few charms she could with her restricted wand.

So, biting her lip, Hermione placed the quill on the page.

Writing blossomed, in emerald ink, from the tip of her quill. Hermione had to bite her tongue to avoid shrieking, and, instead bent low and ignited her wand, in order to get more light than the sputtering candlelight could provide.

_Miss Granger. If you are reading this, it can be clearly assumed that you became curious about the blank book I provided you. Do not fret, although I know you shall do so regardless. There is nothing sinister about this tome, it is merely a tool I have provided you, in order to provide some meaning to your hours. Lord Voldemort is merciful, which you discovered at the Final Battle, as some of my followers have affectionately termed it._

_It is nothing more, and nothing less, than a journal. That is all. None of my followers shall open it, and I myself shall not touch its pages. _

_Your humble servant,_

_The Dark Lord Voldemort._

Hermione blinked.

Then, just to be on the safe side, she blinked again.

The message remained, glistening in slowly drying green ink, and she stared at it, before shaking herself quickly, before peering at the page again.

A journal?

The Dark Lord, her captor, murderer, sadist, insanity personified...had given her a journal.

Not only that, he had given her _books_, written words on bone dry parchment.

It was almost...kind.

No. Hermione thought angrily, clutching the journal tightly, and glaring fiercely at its plain leather binding. The Dark Lord was anything _but _kind. He was cruel, malicious, and was responsible for the deaths of everyone she had ever cared for.

All the same, Hermione settled more comfortably on the floor of her cell, and, her mind oddly blank to the reasons _why_ it was a _very __**bad**__ idea,_ picked up the quill, and began to write.


End file.
